


Mirror Image

by kaasknot



Series: Red vs Blue [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Clonecest, M/M, Masturbation, Mirrors, Shame, Upsetting fantasies and how not to handle them, wet dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:07:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24938023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaasknot/pseuds/kaasknot
Summary: He’d dreamed of Fives fucking him. And he’d liked it.
Relationships: CT-27-5555 | Fives | ARC-5555/CC-1010 | Fox
Series: Red vs Blue [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1801501
Comments: 12
Kudos: 125





	Mirror Image

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place the night before "Goddamned Unprofessional."

Fives was fucking him. The knowledge settled on Fox’s mind complete and whole, as though it had always been there. Fives was fucking him, the tattoo on his temple an incontrovertible proof of identity, and Fox was so close to coming.

The details of Fives’s face weren’t quite right. He looked more like Fox’s batcher Ridge. Fox and Ridge had traded furtive handjobs back when they were cadets, away from the training sergeants’ watchful eyes; nowadays, Ridge was a division commander under Thorn. They hadn’t seen each other in years. Fox couldn’t say exactly how he knew it was Fives, other than the tattoo and because he just did.

Fives’s hands were pinning his down. Unlike the wavering details of Fives’s face, his hands were beyond question. They were vivid and clear. Fox pressed up against them, but he didn’t budge. He was trapped. Fives had trapped him, and Fox was so close to coming—but he wasn't quite there.

He had let himself get fucked exactly once before. She'd been a human at one of the lower-profile clubs Fox sometimes went to, _not_ 79’s, and she’d been bashful about her parts until Fox told her he didn’t mind. One of his platoon-mates in basic had been a sibling; he knew how that worked. He trusted her with his ass more than he’d trust it with any of the cockswinging jackholes calling themselves men, at any rate. At least she hadn’t seen him as lesser.

Above him, Fives flickered into her shape, pale-skinned and soft, the tattoo stark beneath her purple-dyed hair. But it was still Fives, not Duna. Fox knew; he could tell.

He wasn’t ashamed. He should have been, he should have thrown Fives off and kicked him out, but the thought didn’t occur. Fox was so, _so_ close, his head swimming and his cock aching with the knowledge that Fives was fucking him and that even if he’d wanted to he couldn’t leave, because Fives was holding him down.

Heat pulsed through him. Fox clenched in its wake, thrusting his hips up to meet Fives’s. He was so close, but the sensation was muted. Muted the way his shame was, the way his confusion was. But Fox was hard—even through the sluggish fog of his thoughts he could feel it—and that wouldn’t be denied for long.

Fives’s armor appeared suddenly, all blue and white and intimidating ARC lines. He kept fucking Fox, even through his codpiece. Fox was pressed down by the weight of it, forty more kilos of brother preventing his resistance. “Take what you need, Commander,” Fives said, and that was it, Fox’s muscles locked tight and—

Somewhere in between the spasms of orgasm Fives disappeared. The fog of sleep rolled back, and Fox was in bed, in his apartment, creaming himself like a cadet. He rocked his hips up with a groan, clapping a hand over his cock to milk the last spurts.

Then reality returned in full. And shame along with it.

 _Fuck_.

Fox lay there for a handful of heartbeats, quivering with aftershocks and staring at the ceiling. He’d had his share of wet dreams, they all had, but none recently. And few that strong.

 _Take what you need, Commander_.

Goosebumps rose along Fox’s skin, and he clawed his way out from under the covers in a rush. He slept naked; he could get away with it now that he had private quarters. There was no risk of him sleeping through reveille and his pod sliding out to bare his ass to the whole company. The downside, of course, was that now when he had a wet dream there wasn't underwear to contain the mess. Cooling jizz slid down his stomach, making a break for the floor, and there were few things—not many, but Fox had to acknowledge they existed—worse than cleaning dried jizz out of the carpet. 

“Shit,” he muttered. He grabbed the edge of the sheet to wipe himself off, since he’d already soiled it. Then, since he was up and it was the middle of the fucking night and he’d woken up from a sex dream that curled his toes, he stripped the damn bed. It wasn’t as bad as _wetting_ the bed, but given the givens, Fox wasn’t sure it was any less humiliating. He threw the bundle into the corner and breathed, in and out, until his heart stopped racing.

He’d tried to forget. Tried to pretend it was a one-off, even tried to tell himself that Fives had coerced him into it—but that didn’t sit well with Fox’s sense of personal integrity. He’d had the choice. He could have left, but he hadn’t.

So like he’d done for the past two days, he pushed it aside. Ignored it. Told himself the dream was as a one-off fluke. Pulled a clean set of sheets out of the closet and went about folding the corners barracks-sharp, like he’d been taught. When he’d first been issued this apartment, when he’d finally realized no one would inspect it, he’d let it get filthy for all of a week. That was all it had taken before ten years of training started itching so fiercely under his skin he couldn’t bear it, and he’d scrubbed it all from top to bottom.

Fox liked things to be neat. His thoughts weren’t neat, anymore.

There was a little washer/dryer unit in the ‘fresher, squeezed into the narrow space between the wall and the edge of the shower. He stuffed in the sheets and started a cycle. It whirred up, starting a low, soothing background hum.

Fox was awake, but he didn’t really feel it, yet. It was the wee hours, when reality was still slightly offset. He was alone, no one was watching, and he’d dreamed of Fives fucking him, and he… he’d liked it. Slowly, Fox reached over and turned on the ‘fresher light.

He was confronted by his reflection. A Fett clone, dark-haired and brown-skinned, his eyes amber and his body thickly-built. Like all of his brothers. Like Fives.

Not exactly like. Fox didn’t have a tattoo or a goatee, and his hair was in a high-and-tight, not a regulation clip. But those didn’t make up Fives anymore than his armor did. Fives—any clone—was more than the sum of his parts, and the truth of the man wasn’t in how he wore his outer trappings, but the way he wore his body from within. Fives was cocky grins and bright smiles, he was bad jokes and a galling insouciance that he wore closer than his blacks. Fox looked at himself in the mirror and he didn’t see Fives at all.

But… 

He looked down. There couldn’t be that many differences between them, when it came down to flesh and bone. They _were_ clones.

A low frisson of heat and taboo rose in him as he reached up to cup his soft cock. His hands, those were like Fives’s, too: squared and blocky, capable of breaking down any weapon you handed them and putting it back together in under a minute. They took a little longer on a non-reg blaster, though.

Fox looked back at the mirror, not letting himself look higher than his collarbones, and it was so wrong it made his breath catch, but he imagined it was Fives standing in front of him, holding his dick in that cautious grip.

He started to harden.

For an eternity packed into the space of a minute, Fox wavered. He stood naked in the postage stamp of his apartment ‘fresher, his cock hardening up in his hand, and he was so turned on at the thought of it being _Fives’s_ cock he almost didn’t stop to question it at all.

Had it been this easy, for the brothers he’d busted down to trooper for molesting each other? Had it been this difficult to stop themselves?

His hand was already moving, instinct and habit making the choice for him. One slow stroke, pulling his foreskin down to bare the rosy head of his cock. _Fives’s_ cock. He sucked in a shuddery breath. Fives’s cock would look _just_ like that. It pulsed in his hand, and a drop dewed up in the slit.

Fox smeared it away with his thumb. He stared at the mirror, and somehow, _somehow_ it put him outside his body enough that it was almost like watching someone else (Fives) tease themself in front of him. He pushed his foreskin back up, pinching it over the head and rubbing it in slow circles. His breath shook.

It was with a hyperaware, spot-lit self-consciousness that Fox started stroking in earnest. Slowly at first, then faster as he got into a rhythm. His skin prickled at how fucked up this fantasy was, how fucked up the whole situation was: he was jacking it to his own reflection while the load he’d shot barely fifteen minutes earlier churned in the washer behind him.

What the _fuck_ was it about Fives that made him so hard to forget?

Fox cupped his balls with his free hand, and the warmth of it, the small, visceral sense of protection, melted through his pelvis. Maybe Fives’s technique was completely different. Not all of Fox’s partners had liked the same things, regardless of their genital configuration; but then, they were birthers. They _were_ different. Fox had heard an RC laugh and call them mongrels, once, which had earned him a warning in his file, but the comparison had stuck in Fox’s mind. If there was such a thing as pedigree humans, clones were it. Specially bred to be optimal in every way. 

Would Fives like his balls squeezed like this? Fox kept it light, just enough to massage the good feelings out until the novelty wore off and he remembered to stroke his shaft. The edge of the counter dug into his thighs, his eyes fixed on his reflection.

He was leaking more, now. Precome was dribbling down his fingers, slicking his grip. Fives’s cockhead would be purple, too, hard and swollen and pounding with his pulse. Fox’s foreskin didn’t cover it all the way, anymore. He pulled it tight against at the base of his cock, just to feel the sting as it stretched. A mouth felt incredible when the skin was that tight. He looked at his dick in the mirror and just the _thought_ of Fives’s mouth on his dick had his eyes widening and his hips rocking forward. More precome blurted out, his abs clenched tight at the sense memory and mental associations.

He was _fucked_ in the head. It pooled heat in the base of his spine, though, the thought of fucking Fives’s mouth. Shutting him up.

Fox braced himself up against the glass with his free hand. Fives, Fives, Fives. That was all he could fucking think about, anymore. A cock that was a guaranteed dead-ringer for Fives’s was getting slicked right before Fox’s eyes, and his mouth watered, and Fett save him, but he was a basket case that was jerking off to _himself_.

But he wasn’t jerking off to himself, he rationalized. It was Fives. It was the memory of rutting up against Fives’s armor, and the promise of taking the armor _off_ to rut up against a soft, muscled belly instead.

It wasn’t Fives standing naked in front of him that did it. It wasn’t fucking Fives’s face or the groove of his hip. It was the dream: it was _Fives_ fucking _Fox_. It was Fives taking and Fox having no choice but to give. A dizzying moment of double vision overtook him and he imagined Fives behind him in the mirror, fucking into him like he owned him, and _that_ was what threw Fox over the edge. Come splattered the mirror as he gasped at himself in shock.

He stared himself in the eye as he came down. His expression was grim and afraid.

Fox knew better than to say that a criminal thought was equal to a crime performed. But this wasn’t an idle fantasy to wank to and shrug off after; Fox had already fraternized with his own brother, and he hadn’t addressed it for the crime it was. That had to be why he couldn’t let it go. He had to face his guilt and accept what he deserved, no matter how much it would hurt.

He wasn’t the only CC in the GAR. If… if he was removed, then it wouldn’t be a great loss.

He wiped down the mirror and began composing his message to Admiral Tarkin.

**Author's Note:**

> Written because an anon hit up my inbox on tumblr, and I will do unspeakable things (like write 2k of porn in 2 days) if an idea strikes.
> 
> [Here's the anon](https://kaasknot.tumblr.com/post/622132292237836290/foxs-wet-dream-abt-fives-thats-all-i-have-to), for the curious. Stay tuned; the situation they describe may show up later.


End file.
